


Black & Blue

by HiiighNooon



Category: Xiaolin Chronicles, Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Chack, M/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiiighNooon/pseuds/HiiighNooon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a beaten, bloodied and bruised prompt for Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black & Blue

**Black & Blue.**

There was purple mixed in too, red naturally, and sickly greens and yellows bloomed as time went on. His skin was a collage of it all, bruises old and new decorating alongside bloodstained skin.

Waving one of the medbots off he flopped on his bed, barely wincing as pain raced through his body. He was used to the pain. Lifting a hand up he watched the blood flow lazily; he'd been thrown around quite a few times this showdown, hands scrabbling for purchase resulting in two fingernails being ripped off. Shame too, he'd only just managed to grow back that pinky nail. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised too, though thankfully unbroken. Trying to repair jackbots with broken fingers was something he never wanted to do ever again.

Rolling to his feet he moved to the pile of bandages he had laying out from earlier that week. He'd long since learned to keep the medicine cabinet well stocked, you never could know how badly one would come out of a showdown. If he was lucky it would be a few scratches here and there, maybe a bruise or two. Sadly, it was more normal to coming home with bruised or broken ribs; the monks had never learned to hold back, despite their increase of strength and powers.

Disinfectant was an old friend, the burn and foamy bubbles trickling down his arm as he inspected the deep gashes in his arm. They'd been a courtesy of Chase Young, though for once not an intended action by the immortal. He as well as Jack had been blasted back by a maelstrom summoned by Raimundo and Omi, and the dragon's claws had caught on Jack as they fell. The bruises around his neck had been intentional however, and he made a mental note to be steering clear of the other's tail from now on.

Deciding that his arm would be fine without stitches he forwent wrapping up the wound, the promise of washing off dried blood far more enticing. He tried not to look at the cuts, tried to just tell himself to focus on the bright side. Right, about that; what was the bright side again? Rubbing a hand down his face made him wince, and Jack realized the dull throbbing in his head was centered from his eye. A quick peek in the bathroom mirror showed one eye already darkening, only slightly swollen. Poking at it lightly he sighed, knowing he'd have to apply makeup to it next time he went to a showdown. It was an unspoken rule that he would never give the monks the satisfaction of seeing him with injuries they'd inflicted.

Stripping off his shirt he poked experimentally at the fading bruises along his rib cage, thank you very much for those, Clay. He didn't bother to glance at his back though, knowing that the fading bruises were going to be replaced there from today's fall. Shame.

Showering went by slowly, when he wasn't carefully scrubbing at half-closed cuts he just stood there, letting the water wash away all the grime. Even when he was clean he could feel the echoes of punches and blood splatters, of bloody noses and copper-tinted breath.

He stayed in the shower for two more hours.

Going to bed was uneventful, Jack wrapping his arm tightly, reapplying a few band-aids that had fallen off. He'd fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and did not wake until noon the next day, alarm clock going off in his ear.

He woke in a scramble of limbs, yelping as he hit his arm against the wall. Running off instructions for breakfast to a nearby Jackbot he hopped in the shower, and once everything was re-wrapped up he made his way upstairs. It was rare for there to be a wu two days in a row anymore, most having been found by now, so he went with just a pair of sweatpants and a dark, sleeveless shirt. There was no reason to get dressed up everyday. Evil deserved to have a day off now and then.

Breakfast distracted him for some time, thankfully. He learned quite a while ago that while robots could be good cooks, he couldn't always trust their ingredients, having been served roadkill one too many times. Now he simply had the Chefbot lay out all the ingredients, and after sorting through the good and bad would make his own breakfast. It was methodic and soothing, distracting him from the aches of his joints and throb of his eye.

He was only halfway done with the pile of food in front of him that he heard an all too familiar alarm from below. Shit. Ditching the food he ran back to the basement, hand slamming on the off button for the wu alarm. His pinky nicked on the button and he swore, having forgotten about his missing nail.

"Jackbots!" he called, slipping off the sweatpants for a pair of dark jeans. The bots knew the protocol, and even with his scrambling to change did they manage to quickly apply the pile of micro-bots to his eye. He'd created a function for times such as these, hundreds of smaller, finely tuned robots that swarmed over his face, a wave that allowed him to move and prepare while they attended to his makeup. By the time he would be ready they'd have finished, flown off to their holding chamber once more.

Grabbing his trenchcoat he groaned, looking at the long gashes in it; he'd forgotten to tell a bot to mend it during the night, and he had no time to now. Left with little option, he grabbed the jacket he'd left hanging back of his chair a few days ago, leather stained with the scent of machine oil. He scrambled across the lab, snagging his helipack and swinging it on as he raced out the door.

It took a little under an hour to reach the wu. He got there first, surprisingly, and wasted no time to follow the beeping on his wrist that would lead him to the prize.

He was midair when he heard it, helipack lifting him to grab at the odd ruby tucked inside a bird's nest. "Hello, Spicer."  
Twisting around with a yelp he found himself staring down at Chase Young. "Chase!" Damn, his voice cracked.

"Surprising, Spicer. Not only are you here first, but you've managed to not screw up so far. I'd say I'm impressed, but one should not receive praise for simply doing what is expected." Ouch.

Jack shrugged, for once not in the mood to do the usual amount of boasting; maybe it was his arm's increased aching or the lack of his trenchcoat, he just wasn't feeling the vibe today. "I guess that's a wise thing not to do." He went back to what he'd been doing, snagging the wu from beside the squawking birds and holding it up to the sun. Red light shone through it, and for all intents and purposes it looked like just some stone and not some all-powerful artifact. Maybe his wu detector was malfunctioning.

"Hey, do you–" he glanced back at Chase to see the dragonlord had come closer, levitating so he was eye level with Jack. The evil genius yelped, backpedalling through the air and crashing into the branch, falling to the ground with a pained groan. Not even a showdown and he managed to aggravate his injuries. "Ow…" he whined, letting out a cry as he found himself tugged to his feet, a tight grip on his bad arm.

"Fuckin–" he swore, able to feel what meager healing had happened tear open, blood flowing freely.

"You smell like blood."

Well, that's just what you want to hear from you friendly neighborhood dragon. "Yeah, with good reason. Seriously, declaw your dragon half before taking it on a walk next time," he snapped, fear of the other outweighed by the pain. Chase let him go out of surprise, Jack holding the bad arm close to his body out of protection. Realizing what he'd just said, who he'd just snapped at, he let out a yelp, scrambling back. A quick roll of his shoulders activated the helipack again and he shot upwards, hopefully out of attack range. Just to be safe he wasted no time in racing back home, not caring he'd left the rightly found wu behind.

* * *

Returning was less of a landing and more of a crash, Jack lightheaded from the blood slowly soaking into his coat. He was thankful for the autopilot function he'd installed in his pack, not having to worry about steering as his vision threatened to blacken around the edges. Chase had tugged on the skin hard, and it felt as raw and new as the day before. Stumbling forward he landed against a medbot, too out of it to argue letting it support and carry him to bed. He let it attend to him, barely registering as his coat was tugged off with surprising gentleness.

"You are a fool, Spicer," brought his attention back around, and through the swimming, black filtered vision he saw an all too familiar scowl looking down on him. Oh no; seems the medbot hadn't been a medbot after all. "Going out with wounds like these." Pain raced up his arm and Jack cried out. Looking down he stared as Chase pressed his palm to the wound and slid it up the gashes, an itch-like pain appearing as Jack's skin knit itself back together.

"Woah…" was all Jack could manage, slumping back down on the bed. Sitting up made his head spin, while lying down was tolerable.

"What possessed you to go out in such a state, Spicer?"

"Had to get a wu," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. Unknowingly he exposed the worst of the bruising around his neck to the man.

A thumb brushed over Jack's pulse, the teen shivering in response to the slightly pained touch. "I have never seen you in such a state, Spicer. Was the last showdown truly so taxing?" the words were scolding, Jack unable to hold back a snort.

"Like you'd even notice," he muttered, too tired and aching to be afraid what the other may think of him anymore. "Even if you were looking I keep it all rather well hidden." A thumb swiped across his eye had him wincing, a large layer of makeup brushing off as well. The dragonlord's fingers moved from his neck to the eyes, softly brushing and removing the covering. Jack had designed the makeup so it only came off when in contact with body oil versus water. Going up against Omi would prove a problem otherwise.

A low growl sounded above him, and Jack slumped further into the pillow. He was too tired. Maybe Chase could just kill him and all this constant pain would end. Maybe then he could sleep without risk of waking up in the middle of night screaming because he'd moved wrong.

Naturally he was confused and surprised with the same itch-pain from before brushed along his eye, Chase running his fingers lightly over the area. "Foolish…Not even…" The other spoke lowly, Jack unable to make everything out.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, Spicer. Hush." The words were commanding, though the concern underlying Chase's tone had Jack confused.

"'re you feeling okay, Chase?" he mumbled, raising a hand up to feel the other's forehead. Why in all realms would Chase be nice, let alone heal him. The immortal caught his hand on the way up, and soon Jack's fingernails grew back nicely.

"Rest," he commanded, and for all his confusion Jack couldn't help but obey, eyes flitting shut. Man, he hated blood loss.

He lay there for some time, Chase brushing soothing hands over his torso, all marks disappearing at the immortal's touch.

It was only when the teen had fully drifted off, small snores escaping, did the lord bend down, brushing his lips over the now-healed eye. "I am sorry, Jack," he murmured.

A tearing sound filled the room, soon a large dragon curling protectively alongside the evil genius, tail tugging him close. And if anyone later dared to stumble in and accuse him of caring too much for the boy, well, he could always kill them.

**Author's Note:**

> Normal disclaimer that I own no one, etcetera.


End file.
